A Road Paved With Ambition
by The Typical Writer
Summary: When an eleven year old Harry Potter is sorted into Slytherin, Dumbledore is slightly puzzled. When the raven haired starts to display and unquenchable thirst for knowledge and a deep rooted belief in his own self worth, he starts to remind him of another dark haired by who was a Slytherin.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: **_I uploaded this story earlier this year. I did not update it for several months but I have decided that seeing as how some people liked the story (and I enjoy reading the reviews and writing :)), I want to continue this story. The update I was trying to make wasn't working out like I wanted to so I took the story down and I'm posting it again. For those of you who have read, faved and/or followed the story before and for those reading this story for the first time, I appreciate you taking the time to read my story. Writing takes precious time so reviews are always welcome and would motivate me to write faster. On another note, I would love a beta reader to correct the mistakes that I make so please pm me if you're interested._

_Whew. And now, onto the story._

* * *

**A Road Paved With Ambition**

**Chapter One**

* * *

_Somewhere Near Privet Drive, Surrey_

Crouching under the hedge of the thick bushes, ten year old Harry Potter used the back of his sleeve to wipe the thin film of sweat on his face.

A few more minutes and then he would leave to find another hiding place that was more comfortable. Hopefully by then, Dudley and his friends would tire from chasing him and give up for the day.

Licking his parched lips, Harry adjusted the round glasses sliding off his nose and grinned to himself.

He had been at this for hours, he was tired and the sweltering heat was doing nothing for his thirst. But then again, it was a small price to pay for the little 'accident' that he had managed to pull off.

Harry resisted the urge to laugh again as he remembered the look on Dudley's face when the new game boy had flown out of his greedy hands, smashing into the wall and exploding into a million pieces. Predictably, the overfed pig had immediately pointed the finger him, screaming that 'the freak' had done it.

Harry was rather proud to admit, silently of course, that he had in fact done that.

Just like he had managed to make several other accidents simply 'happen' to the people who picked on him.

But the accidents, Harry assured his conscience, were nothing big, nothing that really harmed the Dursleys or anyone else. But he made them happen anyway because they always granted him that small sense of satisfaction, that invigorating reassurance that he was not helpless. It was his small retaliation, the fine thread that let him hang onto his sanity while he suffered at their hands. After all, living with the Durlseys had always been a never ending nightmare that stretched into the days as well.

Not wanting to sink into that familiar feeling of melancholy, Harry closed his eyes, replaying in his mind one of the few memories that he liked to remember too often.

He had been weeding the garden when he had heard the angry whispering of someone who was 'utterly disgusted' at humans. The voice had been strangely coming from ground, from between the potted plants that he carefully looked after. Not wanting to believe that he was losing his mind, he had carefully traipsed over to the neatly arranged pots to find a small garden snake nestling between them, looking absolutely furious.

Bravely, rashly, Harry had attempted his first conversation with a snake.

He had told her his name.

She had told him that she his name seemed familiar.

He told her that he could do strange things, sometimes without meaning to.

She had told him that it was because he was special.

It had been five years since and he still stubbornly, obsessively believed her words, despite the fact that the Dursleys liked to tell him otherwise.

Harry just knew that he was special. It explained all those things that he could do but others couldn't.

Like that stupid game boy that Dudley had got because he had caught a cold. A stupid cold.

He hadn't touched it yes, but seeing Dudley's pig face looking so smugly at him, he had just felt… angry.

He had wished he could just snatch the thing and smash it against the wall.

And because Harry was special, that was exactly what had happened.

* * *

_Diagon Alley_

Running his finger down the list of family names, Harry stopped at House of Potters.

So according to Carolina Binns, he was a descendent of an ancient Wizarding family that stretched back to more than a thousand years.

Harry suddenly felt a connection, a whole new sense of belonging to the Wizarding World.

Deciding that this would be an interesting read, he took out the book and placed it on top of the small pile already resting on the counter.

"Will that be all?" The reedy man behind the counter asked.

Harry nodded in answer and took out his pouch of money, watching unblinkingly as the man waved his wand, making his books smaller until they could have easily fit into his palms.

"Shrinking charm," the man explained, catching Harry's amazed expression.

Collecting his face into a polite smile, he paid for the books and took the small bag that weighed almost nothing. Hagrid, who had walked out of Gringotts looking rather sick from the cart ride, had instructed Harry to go Madam Malkin's after he was done getting his books.

Madam Malkins was conveniently located next door to Flourish and Blotts.

Entering the darkened shop, Harry was met by a squat witch with grey hair.

"Hello dear, Hogwarts?" she smiled kindly.

"Yes ma'am."

"Right this way. I've got another young first year being fitted right now," she gestured towards the back of the shop.

Climbing onto the stool that she had directed him to, Harry saw the said the boy standing next to him, his long pointed face looking absolutely bored.

"Hello, Hogwarts as well?" he drawled.

"Yes," Harry replied.

"Me too," the pale boy nodded self importantly. "My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands. Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms."

"I thought first years weren't allowed brooms?" Harry mused loudly. "Not that it should stop you of course. I don't think that sneaking in one would be too difficult."

"I must say I agree," the blonde threw out his chest. "By the way, where are your parents?"

"Dead," Harry replied. "Apparently Voldemort didn't like them very much."

He watched with curiosity as the little color that the boy had completely drained from his face, leaving him looking unnaturally pale in the darkened room.

"Don't say his name!" he choked out in strangled voice. Pale grey eyes darted around wildly as if he expected Voldemort to stroll into Madam Malkins and murder the two of them for speaking his name.

Harry thought that if he could raise his eyebrow elegantly, which he couldn't; he would have very much liked to do so at the moment.

It was fascinating, he decided, how much fear Lord Voldemort had struck into the heart of the Wizarding World.

After all, if what Hagrid said was right the Dark Wizard had been gone for more than ten years.

Yet, people were still terrified by the mere mention of his name.

Absolutely fascinating.

"I'm Harry," Harry said sticking out a hand, trying not to look too eager for friendship. "Harry Potter."

"Really?" the blonde sneered, still looking unnaturally pale. "Where is your scar?"

"Here," Harry parted the fringe of his messy hair with a bored look. The squat witch, who was returning with another pair of robes shrieked happily at the sight of the lightning bolt scar. Harry tried not to look too uncomfortable as she hugged Harry briefly with tears in her eyes.

"So what's your name?" Harry asked as the boy shook his hand before dropping it, quickly hiding his surprise under that arrogant mask he wore.

"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy," he raised his chin, as if he expected Harry to congratulate him.

"I'll take your word for that," Harry shrugged. He recalled that the Malfoys were listed among the ancient Wizarding families.

"And uh, Ma'am?" Harry asked the assistant politely. "I was wondering if I could get some casual clothes as well?"

At this, Malfoy pointedly looked at Harry's overly large jeans and t-shirt. "That would be a good idea," he said approvingly.

Or he might have been sneering, Harry wasn't sure if he could tell the difference yet.

* * *

About an hour later, gripping his wand, Harry wished Draco was present there as Ollivander peered at Harry with fascinated eyes.

His eleven inch holly wand shared a core with that of Lord Voldemort's. The thought that the brother wand of his own one had killed his parents - and probably numerous other people was sickeningly horrifying.

All the same, Harry couldn't help feel a little…thrilled.

"I suppose this means that we can expect great things from you Mr. Potter," the eccentric man whispered. "After all, You-Know-Who did great things as well. Terrible yes, but great."

Clenching his hands tighter around the wand, Harry kept his face blank while his stomach did flip flops at the new revelation.

He was meant for great things.

* * *

_Hogwarts Train_

Finding an empty compartment was turning out to be a harder task than he had thought. Walking into what seemed like the twentieth one, he saw that it was already occupied by a group of boys who looked a year or two older than him. Harry wondered if he should just ask them if he could join their little group.

"There you are," a voice drawled from behind him.

He turned around to see the platinum blonde boy, looking as stuck up as the last they had met.

"Malfoy," he greeted calmly. Thank the heavens for small favors.

He was flanked by two bulky boys, both of them looking remarkably like Dudley.

"This is Crabbe and Goyle," Malfoy jerked his head towards that two boys.

"Nice to meet you," Harry forced a smile.

They grunted and Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"They're not very bright," he explained as if they were not there. "I was looking for you, Potter. We have a compartment. Want to join us?"

Relief rushed through him.

"Of course."

Malfoy settled back comfortably on the bench, stretching out his legs. "So what house do you think you'll be in? I know that I'll be in Slytherin, everyone in my family was there,"

"Hagrid told me that my parents were in Gryffindor," Harry replied. "Seeing as how I grew up with my – with muggles, I don't know much about the Houses of Hogwarts, except for what I read in Hogwarts A History."

"Well, Slytherin is the best House," Malfoy folded his arms resolutely.

"And the Slytherin mascot is…interesting. The book mentioned that Salazar Slytherin was a snake breeder?" Harry tried not to sound too interested.

"He was also a parselmouth. Not that the stupid blood traitors would ever talk about that," Malfoy sneered.

"Parselmouth?" Harry echoed.

Malfoy gave him a slightly exasperated look.

"I will have to remember that you grew up with filthy muggles. Parselmouths are wizards who could talk to snakes. Salazar Slytherin was one and it's a trait that is only passed down his bloodline. My Father," his chin rose up at this, "said that the Dark Lord was a parselmouth too."

"I see," Harry murmured.

The rest of the train ride revealed that Malfoy had a plethora of knowledge about the Wizarding World that he was too happy to share with Harry.

* * *

_Hogwarts_

Trying to ignore the nervous whisperings of his fellow first years, Harry stared at the Sorting Hat that now lay completely still after the rather insightful song.

He still could not believe it. He was finally in Hogwarts, inside the same school where thousands of wizards had studied magic before. He remembered the wand maker Ollivanders' words.

_"I suppose this means that we can expect great things from you…"_

Suddenly, all those names that the Dursleys had called him, the spiteful way that they had treated him, it all felt so insignificant here. He, Harry was special, he knew that now.

The whole thing still felt surreal.

He waited with growing impatience as a stream of nervous first years were sorted into the four different houses.

And then finally, it was his turn.

"Potter, Harry!"

"Potter?"

"The Harry Potter?"

Harry wished they would all just shut up and stare at something else. He let out a whoosh of breath that he hadn't been aware of holding when the large hat came down on his head, putting him out of the misery of having to look at the gaping eyes.

_"Hmm, difficult. VERY difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There's talent, oh yes. And a thirst to prove yourself. But where to put you?"_

Talent?

_"Why, yes. You could be great in Slytherin, you know. It's all here in your head. And Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, there's no doubt about that."_

Then, Slytherin sounds perfect.

The hat actually chuckled.

_"Now that we have agreed on that..._SLYTHERIN!"

* * *

The stunned silence and the shocked looks from the Slytherin table confirmed that this was quite the surprise.

As Harry made his way towards the Slytherin table, the stunned students recovered themselves, welcoming him with polite applause. He returned the nods that several older students were giving him.

Taking the seat that Malfoy had shoved Goyle out of; he flopped down next to the blonde while Goyle took the seat next to Harry, looking very confused.

Wanting to distract himself, he flicked off an imaginary piece of lint on his robe, trying not to fidget under the hostile glares that he was getting from more than a few Slytherins.

"At least you look happy about this, Malfoy," he tried to imitate the blonde's drawl and failed miserably.

Fortunately, he did not seem to notice.

"You can call me Draco," he turned to Harry smugly, looking infinitely pleased with the Hat's decision. "And I can assure you Harry, you will never regret being in Slytherin. My Father said so."

* * *

The frost came out of nowhere, wrapping around him hungrily, clawing its way through his bones and it felt so cold, so unbearably cold. He wanted to move, to run away so badly and break away from the air the around him – it was too cold, too heavy, pressing against him, it _hated_ him - he couldn't even breathe.

Agony turned to desperation when he heard the voices screaming on the other side. Something was wrong, he could tell and he needed to get there but that piercing hate was still gripping him, holding him inside the suffocating mist.

The clutch on him snapped and he was falling through the emptiness, legs giving way to nothing as he plunged through the endless void - he didn't care, couldn't be bothered with the cold claws trying to pull him back - there was something happening on the other side, he had to get there.

There was that beautiful red haired woman crying, pleading with the tall figure clad in the black robes.

_"Please, no, not Harry — I'll do anything!"_

Mum!

_"Stand aside you foolish girl."_

_"Not Harry! Please... have mercy... have mercy... Not Harry!"_

Excruciating pain burnt through him and he wished it would stop, he wanted to talk, to scream at his mum to stop begging, he wouldn't do it anyway, the man wouldn't show any mercy. He had seen it before, it would always end the same way.

And then the blinding jet of green light flashed inside the room, leaving the cold laugh ringing in his ears.

He sat up gasping for breath, heart pounding furiously inside his chest.

"So, you've awake?" a calm voice asked.

He jerked, scrambling for his wand though he knew he could do nothing with it, he didn't know any spells.

"Calm down Potter," the relaxed figure leaned against the wall, folded arms holding a wand.

"Who-"

"Breathe," he instructed again.

The black haze cleared and his eyes adjusted to the dark, roaming over the silhouette standing a few feet away him, his stance perfectly at ease. He could make out dirty blond hair tousled from sleep, the rack thin body…

"Nott?" he asked surprised.

"You were thrashing on the bed." he commented in a low voice, eyes glinting in the dim light.

"It's called a nightmare," Harry stated dryly, his pale cheeks coloring slightly as reality thudded down – the thought that Nott had caught him having a nightmare, had watched him look so weak, so vulnerable. It felt so utterly mortifying.

"Did I wake you up?"

"No, I was up. You were-" Nott stopped at the hard look on his face. "Anyway, I cast a silencing charm, something which you will do well to learn quickly. Malfoy and Zabini would not appreciate being woken up at four in the morning."

Harry glanced around at the beds with the curtains drawn; he could hear the soft snores rippling through the large room. Nott was right, they would not appreciate it.

Running a clammy hand through his hair, he thought for a moment. There was no way he could go back to sleep now; the nightmare would just recur, leaving him utterly exhausted by morning.

"At any rate, thank you Nott," he climbed off the rather comfortable bed, relieved to notice that his legs were steady, he wouldn't want it any other way while in front of the tall boy; he had suffered enough humiliation, thank you very much.

Nott inclined his head, walking over to his own bed and straightening a pillow before giving him a rather strange look.

"Is there any particular reason why you are staring me?" Harry asked.

Not looked unperturbed at his cold tone. "You were dreaming about your mother."

He gritted his teeth, anger carousing through him once more. "I was dreaming about Voldemort," he ignored Nott's flinch, "murdering her." He narrowed his eyes. "Not that it's any of your business," Harry added coldly.

Nott stared at him. "No, it's not," he said thoughtfully before closing the curtains on his bed.

Harry went in to the bathroom and took a long shower, determined to wash off the cold that was clinging to his skin stubbornly.

* * *

Walking into the Great Hall, Harry scanned the few Slytherins who were scattered around the table, most of them frowning over pieces of parchment and holding halfhearted conversations with their friends. Theodore Nott, he noticed was the only other first year at the Slytherin table, sitting at the far end, engrossed in the Wizarding newspaper and absentmindedly nibbling on a piece of toast.

"Do you mind?" Harry gestured to the empty seat next to him.

The thin boy looked at him with wary eyes.

"No," he promptly went back to the newspaper that he had been reading.

The Daily Prophet. He should remember to take out a subscription for the Wizarding newspaper.

Harry piled a plate with bacon and toast, keeping his movements slow and deliberate.

"Anything interesting?" he tried to make conversation.

Nott looked at him in the eyes. "There was a break in at Gringotts," he said slowly. "Here," he held out the newspaper.

Taking it, Harry scanned through the article.

_Believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown...The vault in question, number 713, had been emptied that same day...Gringotts urges all..._

Vault 713. That was the same vault that Hagrid had gone into.

'Dumbledore's business,' he had said.

So someone, someone who had a lot of confidence in his magical abilities had broken into Gringotts to steal the same small package that Hagrid had retrieved earlier. The thing, whatever it had been, was probably now safe in the hands of Professor Dumbledore.

He handed the newspaper back to Nott and ate his breakfast in silence, contemplating what the small thing could be. So small and yet someone obviously thought that it was worth risking life and limb for.

"Nott," an oily voice snapped.

They both turned around to see Professor Snape, holding out a piece of parchment that Nott took with a polite nod.

The Potions Master turned to Harry, his pale face sneering.

"Your schedule," he shoved the parchment into Harry's hand.

"Good morning, Professor," Harry kept his voice pleasant.

The scowl he received could have sent Vernon Dursley running for his Mummy.

"I would advise you to save your big headed arrogance for people who are mentally deficient enough to fall for it, Potter," the Professor sneered. "And do not be late to your classes."

"Yes, sir," he replied dutifully.

Another glowering look and the two boys watched as he took off, distributing more parchments to the students.

"He doesn't like me very much, does he?" Harry remarked, turning his attention to the slightly crumpled parchment in his hand.

Nott remained silent, his face guarded as if he wasn't sure what to make of Harry.

"We have Potions with the Gryffindors at nine," Harry announced, still trying to make conversation. "Do you know where the library is?"

Nott shifted in his chair. "Yes." He seemed to pause, mulling over his next words. "If you want, I'll show it to you." he finally said.

"I would appreciate that." Harry offered a thin smile that wasn't returned by the reserved boy.

The two boys finished their breakfast in silence.

* * *

They walked through the winding staircases and long corridors, Harry trying to not show that he could sense the waves of apprehension coming off from boy who otherwise looked calm and collected.

"Nice," Harry murmured at the vast shelves lined with books before he caught the segregated shelves at the end. "Restricted Section?"

The librarian looked up, her sharp gaze falling on Harry and lips pursing in warning.

"You need to get written permission from a Professor to read the books in that section," Nott spoke in a practiced low voice. "But I do know that most of Slytherin upper years usually have their own collection of advanced books."

So the Slytherins had their own library of books that Hogwarts thought should be controlled. Harry filed this information for future use.

The next hour and a half passed quickly as they took a secluded table, Nott sitting down and flicking through a book about Quidditch while Harry took the time to pick a bundle of books and bring them all to the table. He flipped through them, choosing several ones that he wanted to borrow.

They sat across each other, both of them seemingly absorbed in their own tasks. The dirty blond haired boy didn't talk any further, didn't even glance up from the book he was reading.

And yet, Harry agreed with the incessant whispering of his instincts that Nott was watching him very closely.

* * *

The two of them made it to Potions early, the only other student being a bushy haired Gryffindor sitting in the front row.

Harry walked ahead and chose a table at the last row while Nott sat down on his left. Minutes passed by and more and more students trickled in, the Gryffindors and Slytherins demonstrating the animosity between them by sitting on different sides of the class.

Soon, a rather pissed off blonde strode in with his two bodyguards.

"You were supposed to wait for me," Draco hissed, sliding into the chair next to him.

Next to him, Nott raised his face by a few inches, listening intently as if this was something he was interested in.

Harry turned his head sideways to the glaring boy.

"I was?" He feigned surprise. "Wait, no. No I wasn't." he answered his own question thoughtfully before looking at Draco with mock disappointment. "I do believe that you have confused me for Crabbe or Goyle."

Emerald green eyes coolly met pale grey ones that flickered with anger, surprise and a hint of uncertainty. "Where were you anyway?" Draco finally asked.

"The library," Harry replied airily.

Draco looked like he wanted to something chose not to as Professor Snape barged in, his black robe bellowing behind him - in Harry's opinion, in a most elegant and imposing manner.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry could see that the blonde was fuming about their exchange while Nott looked faintly impressed.

The Professor started with taking the roll, stopping to scowl at Harry's name as if it was the most unpleasant thing he had ever read on a parchment.

Reaching to the end of the roll, he marked off Zabini's name with a flourish.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he stated softly. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here..."

Harry listened, enthralled as the Potions Master continued in that silky voice barely above a whisper. Not a single word was missed as they listened captivated with fear and respect – none of them even daring to breathe audibly. The Professor finished his classy speech by informing them all that they were a 'bunch of dunderheads', something that made several Gryffindors fidget uneasily.

Ten minutes quickly passed into the first Potions class and Harry was silently blessing the Sorting hat for putting him in Slytherin.

Had he been sorted into Gryffindor, Harry realized, Professor Snape would have been a nightmare.

After asking Longbottom three questions to that no one except Granger knew the answer to, Professor Snape had taken ten points from Gryffindor. He was not impressed with Granger's eagerness to answer the questions either and that had cost Gryffindor another five points.

Professor Snape then ordered them to brew the Cure for Boils.

"The instructions," he sneered at the Gryffindors, "are on the board. You may begin."

Chairs scrapped and students got in pairs, Zabini quickly partnering with Draco, leaving Harry with Nott.

It was a wonder, he thought while carefully measuring the crushed fangs, that the Gryffindors managed to do anything at all as the Potions Professor went around their tables, offering sarcastic insults and disparaging comments on the level of their intelligence.

He knew that the only reason his fellow Slytherins were tittering at Professor Snape's bullying was because they were not and never would be on the receiving end of the verbal attacks.

The tactic to intimidate the brave lions were obviously working well as halfway into the lesson, a nervous and stuttering Longbottom somehow blew up a cauldron, much to the amusement of the Slytherins except for Harry, Crabbe and Goyle.

Harry suspected that the latter two probably had no idea that a cauldron had exploded in the classroom.

He continued to watch with mild interest as Professor Snape used the golden opportunity to reduce one of the girls to tears, question the presence of a brain inside every Gryffindor head in room and take away forty points from their House, all within the space of thirty seconds.

Harry thought that Professor McGonagall, who seemed rather stern but fair, would disapprove deeply. Or perhaps Gryffindor was used to losing points while studying Potions with Professor Snape.

The class continued, Professor Snape berating the Gryffindors and openly favoring and praising all the Slytherins except Harry – who was graced with fierce scowls every now and then.

Time blissfully passed until they only had fifteen minutes left.

"I am NOT cleaning the table Zabini, you do it," Draco was saying.

Harry looked at the next table where a cross Draco was bottling a sample of the Potion while Zabini got to work, looking irritated.

Harry thought it was fair, seeing as how the blonde had done almost all the work except for bringing the ingredients to the table while Zabini had spent more time listening to Professor Snape torturing the Gryffindors.

Even more impressive was that during the entire lesson, Draco had attentively sniggered at all of the Professors humiliating comments to the Gryffindors, added to their suffering by discreetly sabotaging two different cauldrons, loudly shared his Father's opinion on least ten different matters, and still managed to produce a perfect potion by doing most of the work.

Malfoy Junior, Harry marveled, might be a prat but he was one talented prat.

As they filed out of the Potions class, Harry once again deliberated over the inconvenient fact that Professor Snape hated him.

He really wanted to know why.

* * *

"Well done, Mr. Potter!" Professor Flitwick squeaked, looking as excited as when he had called Harry's name on the roll earlier. "Five points to Slytherin. That was excellent!"

Reveling in the praise as it wasn't something that he ever remembered getting, Harry let the floating feather fall back to the desk gently.

"Thank you, sir. It wasn't that difficult," he returned modestly.

"How did you do that?" Draco demanded as soon as the Professor was out of earshot.

Harry had chosen to pair with him, simply because he wanted to get back into the good grace of the haughty boy.

"If you could just stop copying Weasley's hand movements and tried the real one..." he started dryly.

"I am NOT copying the stupid Weasel!" Draco snapped.

Now that Harry compared them, the red haired boy was doing it even worse, waving his arms like a windmill while a rather bossy Granger chastised him.

"No, you're doing much better than him," he told Draco sincerely. "Here, watch me do it."

Ten minutes before the class ended, Harry sighed with relief as Draco managed to cast the charm properly. As the feather soared into the air, Harry knew that the annoyance the blonde had felt at him earlier was now at least partially subsided.

When the bell rung indicating the end of the class, Harry packed his things slowly, thinking about his mum or more specifically, about her wand. Ollivander had said that it was 'excellent for charm work' and Professor Flitwick did look old enough to have taught her. Was it possible?

He turned to an expectant Nott who had walked to his table. "Go ahead. I need to ask the Professor something."

Nott raised an eyebrow before walking out, careful not to trail behind Draco and his cronies.

Harry stayed back, pretending to rummage through his bag until all students had filed out before approaching the diminutive Professor.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?" he squeaked.

"Please, just call me Harry. I was wondering, sir," Harry leaned forward, "if you taught my mum?"

The Professor beamed at him. "Why, yes! Lily was one of my best students, very talented at Charms."

"So," Harry continued, sounding hopeful, "do you think that you could tell me about her sometime?" At the uncertain look on the Professors face, he hurried quickly. "It's just that sir, I never knew her and my aunt – well, she never told me anything. No one did, really."

Professor Flitwick nodded his furiously. "Of course, Harry. I would love to tell you what I know about your mother. She was one of my favorite students, you know. Let's see," he dug out a parchment with a table brightly colored in several areas. "How about tomorrow at six? Come to my office, we could have tea."

* * *

Harry gave him a rare, genuinely grateful smile.

"The incantation is _Silencio_. And the wand movement," Nott explained quietly, "is like this." He made an outward slash with his wand.

They were seated in the Common Room after Harry had reluctantly asked him to teach the silencing charm, pointing out that it would be in the best interest of all the boys in their dormitory.

He watched Harry patiently, correcting his wand movements when necessary as the raven haired boy tried to cast the charm several times.

"_Silencio_," Harry muttered for what seemed like the twentieth time.

He felt his wand gave a slight thrum, a sure sign that he had done it right.

Nott nodded and leaned back into the green couch, tucking his own wand back into his sleeve and looking at him thoughtfully. "In your dream," he paused before continuing at Harry's nod, "Do you actually see the Dark Lord?"

Harry looked at the thin face, so full of both apprehension and curiosity.

"Kind of," Harry answered. "Mostly it's just my mum, getting murdered by him."

He sank back into the couch, the emerald green eyes a taking a faraway look. "Someday," he murmured, "it will be him."

Nott looked slightly alarmed. "What?"

"Someday," Harry repeated, "it will be him in front of me, begging for mercy."

Nott stared at Harry as if he was seeing him for the first time.

* * *

**AN:**_ If I don't post an update in a few days, pm me and bug me to do so. Now, please review!_


	2. Chapter 2

**A Road Paved With Ambition**

**Chapter Two**

* * *

The Halloween Feast was an offending affair for the Slytherins, most of them coming from pureblood families who were vehemently against practicing muggle traditions in the Wizarding World. Most of them who turned up for the feast choose to remain quiet, idly picking their way through dinner though Harry noticed that some of the older Slytherins were whispering among themselves urgently.

Sitting across him, Draco sneered at the elaborately carved pumpkins and the overdone decorations.

"It's disgusting," he drawled, "that a muggle tradition is upheld here in Hogwarts. We should be celebrating Samhain, remembering our dead ancestors, not eating candy like a bunch of mudbloods."

On either side of him, Crabbe and Goyle, both of them with their cheeks bulging from whatever candy that they are stuffed in there, grunted in agreement.

Harry opened his mouth to offer a comment when the doors to the Great Hall flew open and a panicked Professor Quirell ran in.

"Troll!" He screamed. "Troll in the dungeon! Thought you ought to know." He promptly fainted.

Chaos ensued as students panicked, screaming their lungs out.

"He _can_ talk without stuttering," Harry muttered to Nott as an unruffled Dumbledore ordered all Prefects to escort their Houses back to the Common Rooms.

"Our common room is in the dungeons!" an indignant Draco shrieked.

Harry wondered why the blonde even bothered. "Let's just go, shall we?" he said lightly. "I'm sure that when Dumbledore starts caring, he'll drop us an owl."

* * *

The halls in the dungeons were lined with the occasional lanterns - some of which were lit - throwing a mesh of dancing shadows onto the walls as the entourage marched through. The trip turned out to be blandly uneventful, lacking the company of any kind of oversized and dimwitted creatures, unless one counted the presence of Crabbe and Goyle.

When they finally climbed through the door, entering the familiar Common Room, students broke up into groups, most of them taking seats in the room, speculating what might have happened to the troll.

Harry was standing with the first years, arms folded and leaning against the stone wall listening as Draco huffed about the incompetency of Professor Dumbledore. Green eyes flitted towards Nott who stood some distance away, calmly discussing the troll with an animated Zabini. Harry broke off from the group casually, feeling Notts eyes following him.

Entering the dormitory, Harry opened his trunk, rummaging for the book he had checked out of the library more two weeks ago.

_A History of Witchcraft_ by Alexandra Ralphson. Such an innocent book.

It was a summarized history of magic, from the time of King Authur to the Witch Trials that that were held in the 17th century.

Harry wasn't interested in the history; it was of no importance to him yet.

But the brief mention of Samhain celebrations had caught his interest, especially when the author had described that old magic users had celebrated Samhain as the day to contact the dead.

If Harry's guess was right, the rituals had been forgotten by most Wizarding families and it was now considered Dark Magic.

But he was a Slytherin and he had hedged his bets right when he had asked Prefect Gemma Farley about it. The question had earned him a rare look of approval from her and the information had cost him nothing.

But the candles, purchased anonymously through Farley (from who, he had no idea) had cost him more than half of the money had in the pouch.

He had 'borrowed' a knife and learnt the prayer that Farley had written down on a piece of parchment, instructing him to burn it after he was done with it.

As far as preparations went, he was ready for tonight.

Harry whirled his head as the door flew open and Zabini stomped in, followed by the rest of the boys. "They took care of the troll. We still have classes tomorrow." He looked very depressed at how things had turned out.

"I see." Harry replied.

He tuned out the conversation and stretched out on his bed, meticulously going over the details for the plan tonight.

He made little conversation with Draco and Nott, feeling almost envious as they went to sleep while he fought against the warm bed trying to lure him to sleep.

* * *

Time passed agonizingly slowly, and as soon as it was eleven thirty, he got up slowly keeping an eye on Nott, the lightest sleeper in the room.

Harry threw over a robe hastily, tucking his wand under the sleeve. Tiptoeing out of the room, he kept his eyes peeled for any sign of movement from the sleeping boys. Silently closing the door behind him, Harry swirled his wand around him, casting a quick Disillusionment Charm. Looking down at his body, he could tell that he wasn't very good at it yet. He was only partially transparent.

Still, it was better than nothing.

A silencing charm next and he climbed his way up the stairs, walking into the Common Room that was surprisingly empty. Or maybe, he thought, there were people there, and he just couldn't see them because they actually could cast a proper disillusionment charm.

Stop being so paranoid, he told himself.

Adjusting the backpack had had slung over his shoulder, Harry remembered the directions to the room that Farley had scouted for him, assuring him that he wouldn't be disturbed there.

Even with the silencing charm, he treaded softly; sticking close to the walls as he walked the way through the winding corridors. He walked past the office of Professor Snape, made several turns before taking a flight of stairs downstairs that lead into another long hallway.

Five minutes later, he stopped, running through the directions again. He had trusted Farley too much, he realized now. He should have demanded that she showed him the way, should have made a practice trip instead of taking her word that it would be easy to get there. Besides, he couldn't waste time getting lost, the disillusionment charm he had cast was weak and was rapidly wearing off.

Alright, stay calm, he urged himself.

He reached the end of the dimly lit hallway, took a turn to the right and climbed another flight of stairs that zigzagged dizzily. Now he was on another corridor, lit by torches that were burning.

At the back of his head, he wondered why the abandoned area of the dungeons was lit at all.

Two more turns, both of them to the left and he was standing in front of the door, the same exact one that the brown haired girl had described in detail. He pushed it open with force, entering the small room and letting the door swing shut, leaving him in absolute darkness.

"_Lumos_." he whispered.

Blue light flooded the room, throwing into the relief the rough stone walls, the walls glistening as if they were wet. His eyes fell on the small snake lying curled on the floor, his head rearing back in warning.

"Good evening," Harry hissed. "A wonderful night, isn't it?"

The look on its face was priceless.

* * *

He kneeled before the orange candles that he had neatly arranged in the shape of an eight, the magical number for creation and destruction as well as life and death.

"Things might get a little strange in here," he told the snake, aware that his voice had a slight tremor.

"I will not interfere," the little one replied.

Harry took the small blade, shivering as the cold metal edge made contact with his palm. A quick slash and blood appeared, warming his hand for a moment before dripping onto the floor.

He started chanting softly, the Latin words bouncing against the walls, echoing in his ears.

_Haec nox est, quando portae inter nostro mundo et spiritus mundus est tenuissima._

_Hac nocte est noctis spatium ad evocant iis, qui ante._

_Hac nocte honoro maiorum meorum._

The flames started to flicker brightly, rising up hungrily.

_Patres matresque spiritus meus, clamavi ad te, et hospitio hac nocte mecum._

It was glowing blue, dark smoke swirling out...

_Vos vigilo super me semper, protegens et regens me, et hac nocte gratias ago tibi._

The flame darkened, giving way to darkness... cloaking him from the world...

_Sanguine tuo currit in mea venas, in animo meo, animam meam in vestra memoria._

The faint scent of citrus and musk burst in along with warmth that felt so familiar...

_Cum dono recordationem._

_Memini omnibus vobis._

It wasn't his imagination, wasn't desire playing tricks on him...

_Sed numquam oblita es mortuus, vivis, et intus et qui in futurum._

Two translucent figures rose out of the flames, smiling at him and him only.

He could not believe it. It had worked.

* * *

The reflection stared back at him, ghostly pale skin contrasting against bloodshot eyes that looked worried. Flexing his hand, he realized that he was tired, felt drained of all energy. And he still had classes today.

What was he going to do now? Harry hadn't thought this far, hadn't even imagined that the effects of the ritual would be so visible.

A Notice-Me-Not charm was an option but he had a feeling that it wouldn't fool the teachers. And he wasn't that good at it it yet.

The door swung open and Nott walked in, stopping in his tracks with surprise as Harry turned around.

"What happened to you?"

An excellent question Nott, one I'm sure I will have to answer a lot today.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. "Nothing," he sighed.

"Well, you look-"

"Nott," Harry interrupted. "There is a mirror in here; I know exactly how I look."

He had the grace to look faintly embarrassed. "Do you need to go to the Hospital Wing?"

Harry felt surprise that he was too exhausted to show. Slytherins weren't supposed to show concern, the trait was considered a weakness unless it was with friends. And inside the snake den, friendship wasn't a word that was thrown around loosely.

He considered the situation, aware that Nott looked uncertain, wary of how he would react. He didn't want to go to the Hospital Wing, it would lead to too many questions.

"No, that wouldn't be a good idea," Harry said before smiling faintly. "All the same, thank you, Nott."

The thin boy visibly relaxed.

Transfiguration was an ordeal, Professor McGonagall watching him with searching eyes as he struggled with transforming the teacup.

"Mr. Potter."

He almost jumped at the clipped voice. "Professor?"

The green robed witch was standing in front of his desk, her stern face showing the barest hint of concern. "Are you feeling alright?" She asked.

"I'm fine Ma'am. Just tired."

"Do you need to go to the Hospital Wing?"

"No," he replied firmly. "I just...couldn't sleep very well last night."

She nodded, gave him another look before walking away.

"Maybe we should leave," Nott whispered.

Harry noted and almost smiled at the 'we' as Draco turned around, frowning at him.

"What happened to you?" he demanded.

"Nothing," Harry said for the second time that day.

"Well," the blonde drawled, "you look-"

"Leave it Malfoy." Nott interrupted before Harry had the chance.

A well-practiced humph and Draco turned away.

* * *

Farley grabbed hold of him on the second floor, dragging him by the scruff of his neck, while a bemused Nott started to make after them.

"Not you, kid." Farley told him pointedly, without breaking her stride.

Nott halted, looking at Harry.

"I'll be fine. You go ahead. And kindly let go of my neck, Farley, I can walk perfectly fine on my own."

The brown haired girl looked at him, unperturbed. "Really, now?" She tightened her fist. "Keep walking, Potter."

She dragged him inside, ignoring his protests.

"This is a girl's bathroom!" Harry looked horrified as he stared at the surroundings.

"Stop being such a gentleman. Tell me," she grabbed his chin, inspecting his face, "what did you do, try to bring your parents back from the dead?"

"Is that possible?" He asked eagerly.

"No, it bloody isn't," she snapped, light brown eyes flashing with annoyance. "Anyway, here," she held out a bottle.

He stared at the thick clear liquid with a red tinge.

"It's a Blood Replenishing Potion. Drink it." She tapped her foot. "Does anyone know what you did?

"No. I suppose I will tell Nott. But for this" he gestured at his pale face, "I haven't thought that far."

"I see." She raised an eyebrow as he puckered his face, gulping down the contents.

"It tastes like metal," he eyed the empty bottle with disgust.

"Why, thank you for the information. I never knew that before." Farley said seriously.

He frowned at his skin, the pale white looking unearthly. "You could have at least warned me," Harry muttered irritably.

"No, there was no need to." At his furious look, she continued. "You are not the only Slytherin who honored Samhain, Potter. But no one else came back looking half dead from it."

It was true, he realized.

"That is true. May I leave now?" He asked.

"Not yet. Potter," she narrowed her eyes. "if anyone asks, don't lie. Bend the truth."

He looked thoughtful at the advice. "Alright." Reluctantly, he added. "And thank you for the help."

"You're welcome."

He turned around, holding his head proudly and looking as relaxed as he could.

Why was Farley helping him so much?

The empty classroom was one that he had scouted out during his second week, located on the second floor and by its look, neglected for years.

Harry waved his wand, the simple cleaning charm gathering the dust into a ball that he let drop onto the floor. Pocketing his wand, he dropped into the chair.

"I remembered my parents last night," he said, aware that Nott would know exactly what he was talking about.

He looked both worried and impressed. "If Dumbledore finds out..." he let his voice trail off.

"Oh, he won't," he assured the slightly worried boy. He leaned back his head, pale face radiating confidence that he didn't really feel.

* * *

Harry flipped another page absentmindedly, doing his best to appear as if he was absorbed in it. By the looks of it, Granger and Weasley had apparently become friends. An interesting development, he thought, given how the red headed boy had always given off the impression that he couldn't stand her.

They were sitting at the table near the History section, rummaging through a pile of books. Granger looked fervent though Weasley was giving off the impression that was being forced to do a rather unpleasant chore.

"I told you Hermione, Snape is trying to steal it!"

The loud whisper was easy to catch and now they had the full attention of both him and Nott who had looked up interestedly.

"Not so loud Ron!" Granger admonished. Harry muffled a tired laugh as the two Gryffindors craned their necks, looking in the direction of a bunch of first year Hufflepuffs and an assorted group of Upper Years who were sitting several tables away.

Did it not occur to them that maybe they should check behind them as well? Granted, Harry and Nott were sitting in the table in a shadowed corner but they certainly weren't invisible.

No, it didn't and the two lions went back to whispering.

"Professor Snape is a teacher Ron. I'm sure he wouldn't do try to steal it."

Steal what? Harry wondered.

"Oh yeah?" Wealsey retorted. He dropped his head towards the mass of bushy hair and Harry strained his ears, not wanting to miss it. "How else do you explain his leg? He was injured, Hermione. Snape tried to steal whatever that bloody three headed dog is guarding on the third floor corridor. But it attacked him, I saw it before he covered it. The dog much be guarding something valuable, probably some dark thing, I reckon. Everyone knows he was a Death Eater."

Nott glanced at him sideways, giving a perceptible nod at Harry's frown.

His mind whirled with the information.

Professor Snape was a Death Eater, there was a three headed dog inside Hogwarts on the third floor and it was guarding something valuable. The object from Vault 713, perhaps?

No, that couldn't be. Dumbledore may be eccentric but Harry was sure he wasn't stupid enough to hide it somewhere that an idiot like Weasley had managed to go into.

What was he missing here? And more importantly, should he be bothered about it at all?

An hour passed as Wealey complained while Granger looked for more information about the dog, which she had declared to be 'very fascinating'.

When they finally left, Harry closed his book.

"I'm going to see Professor Flitwick," Harry whispered.

"Good luck," Nott murmured. "And one more thing," he leaned towards the raven haired boy. "Next time you celebrate Samhain, I want to join in."

Harry grinned. "Of course."

Neither of them noticed the two boys standing on the other side of the shelf at their back, shock written all over their faces.

* * *

Professor Severus Snape scowled at the deplorable scrawling that the youngest Weasley called his handwriting. Molly Weasley, he knew, did teach her brood of children how to write before shipping them off to Hogwarts. He knew for a fact that the three eldest Weasley children were perfectly literate and had brains that functioned well enough. Even the two identical dunderheads who lived to create mayhem could write perfectly legible essays.

Scanning through the parchment, he sneered as the letters steadily increased in size from top to bottom.

Taking his quill, he wrote a rather large and clear T at the top before tossing it onto the pile and moving onto the next one.

His heart skipped a beat at the sight of the neat handwriting, the small letters written meticulously, elegantly. It reminded him of another one he knew so well, one that he loved for its perfectness.

Harry Potter, he knew well before he arrived at Hogwarts, had Lily's eyes, something that he had been prepared for. He ignored the brat, preferred not to look into those beautiful green eyes that would mock his decisions, remind him of a mistake that he would pay for a lifetime.

Fate, not satisfied with his decision, had shocked him at the end of the second week when Potter had given him his first essay.

It had looked so orderly, the letters formed with attention to detail, the words spaced out painstakingly evenly.

Potter's first essay, though rich in information had lacked any form of organization, the sentences jumping from one sub topic to the next jerkily.

Weeks before the school term had started; he had gleefully planned to give the spawn of Potter a big fat T. But the parchment had stared back, reminding him that the eleven year old brat hadn't come from James Potter alone.

Weeks had passed and Potter Junior had proved to be more and more difficult to ignore. His behaviour and mannerisms (as well as his sharp intelligence, in his opinion) screamed Lily to the entire staff of Hogwarts who remembered the vivacious Gryffindor girl.

He had expected the boy to be loud and stupid, like his father.

Potter was quiet and he was brilliant, questioning and figuring out theory behind the practical magic while others struggled with the simple spells.

He had anticipated that he would surround himself with a group of equally annoying dunderheads and be generally rude to people he didn't like.

Potter preferred the company of Theodore Nott, a boy who was just as quiet as him and he was unfailingly polite to everyone.

He had expected the brat would be crazy about Quidditch, like his oaf of a father.

Potter had so far shown no special interest in the sport.

Most importantly, he had believed the boy would be in Gryffindor, like both of his parents.

Potter Junior loved to do the unexpected and had made it to Slytherin.

Scanning the first essay, he had shut his eyes, writing an "O" at the top, not caring that it was unfair.

And just send a hint to Granger that the universe didn't work fairly, he had given her an "E" with a comment that told her exactly what he thought of people who wrote needlessly long essays.

Scanning Potter's second essay, he noted that the writing skills had dramatically improved, the paragraphs were informative, well-structured and flowed easily. Even the letters were looking, if possible, neater than before.

Lily would have been proud of it, he knew.

Writing an "O" at the top, he carefully placed the parchment on the pile.

Fifteen minutes later, he gave Granger's second essay another "E" because nothing had changed since her first one that he had marked and the universe was still unfair.

* * *

Harry inspected his hand, noting with satisfaction that colour was slowly returning. Taking a calming breath, he knocked on the door and walked inside.

"Harry!" The small man beamed at him from behind the crowded table. "Take a seat. Are you alright?"

Time to play his cards.

"No, sir. Not really." He sighed.

"I see. Some tea, Harry?" Professor Flitwick asked.

He nodded.

His first visit here had lasted hours as the Charms professor had regaled him with tales of his mother. His enthusiasm had let to an invitation for another appointment and it had grown into regular meetings. It was an excellent arrangement, with the cheerful Professor recounting stories of Lily Evans and teaching him some charms that weren't in the first year syllabus.

He took a small sip from the hot tea, before setting the cup down.

"Professor," Harry started. "Can I tell you something?"

"Of course you can Harry." Professor Flitwick clasped his small hands, looking very solemn.

"I have these nightmares," he spoke softly.

Don't lie but bend the truth, he reminded himself.

"There's a woman. Well, it's my mum, I know that." The Professor leaned forward, listening attentively.

"She was in front of me," Harry continued. "And there's this man in dark robes. He laughs and then there's this green light and mum dies." He finished in a rush.

The Professor looked shocked, frightened and concerned.

"Oh, Harry," his voice dropped several octaves. "I suppose the ni-dreams were worse last night?"

Harry gripped his knees, not acknowledging it, not wanting to light outright.

The diminutive man took it as a yes and looked at him with pitying eyes. "Well, I suppose it might be because James and Lily died on Halloween-"

"They did?" Harry cut in.

"Why, yes." Professor Flitwick said, looking genuinely sad. "I'm truly sorry you have live with a burden like that."

Harry knew that he was referring to the nightmare.

"But I don't see her face in the dream, mum's face, I mean." Harry moved onto Part B of his plan. "I was wondering, Professor, if you have a picture of her?"

His face fell, looking both guilty and regretful. "No, I'm afraid not, Harry. But I'm sure that her close friends have some. Have you tried asking Professor Snape?"

Why wizards, who as far as he knew practised no religion would celebrate Christmas was beyond him. After about three seconds of deliberation, he put it down to one more muggle tradition like Halloween that has managed to worm its way into the Wizarding World.

As far as he was concerned, Christmas was another day in the calendar. Christmas with the Dursleys had done nothing for him save to remind him that he was unwanted and that despite the blood ties, he was considered as an intruder. He knew that neither him nor the Dursleys would lose any sleep over having to spend the day away in two different places, thousands of miles apart.

So when the students who wanted to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays were asked to sign up their names, Harry was among the first Slytherins to sign up.

* * *

"There you are," a familiar voice said.

Harry wondered why everyone used that line.

"Yes, here I am," he replied dully. Nott walked inside cautiously, closing the door behind him and peering at the furniture stacked at the back of an entire wall. "When do you think was the last time they used this classroom?"

Harry sighed. "Nott, I'm sure we can talk about things much more interesting than the history of this bloody classroom."

"Alright. What are you planning to do during the holidays?" he asked.

Harry kept his face neutral. "During the holidays?"

"I know that you probably have plans. Something you want to...do." Nott finished.

"That, I do," he twirled his wand. "I want to find out...something. And maybe learn a few extra spells?."

He almost looked a bit disappointed that Harry wasn't sharing more details. "Farley would probably help you," he shrugged. "You'll write to me and tell me about it, won't you?" he asked.

"Of course. But I didn't know that Farley is staying at Hogwarts for the holidays."

"She is," Nott confirmed.

Well, that was just excellent.

The library was empty, except for Madam Pince and Harry. The former was engrossed in a paper while Harry walked past the shelves, unsure of where to start.

The question of who Voldemort was, who he really was, had been bugging him more than he would care to admit. The name didn't belong to any magical family listed as far as he could find. Yet no one seemed to know him by any other name.

He ran through the facts in his mind again.

Voldemort had been a Slytherin. That put him with thousands of other students who had been sorted into the house. He was also a parseltongue. That made him a descendant of Salazar Slytherin. Or was he? Harry had spent some time trying to trace his family as well, only to find that the Potters had descended from the Gryffindor line. The finding had left him slightly depressed. But he was a parseltongue, wasn't he? How did that work out?

Rubbing his temple, Harry yanked out a book about famous Wizards and their accomplishments. He knew that it was highly unlikely that the Dark Lord might have done something as tame as inventing a revolutionary cleaning spell before he had decided to become a Dark Lord. But he had to start somewhere, didn't he?

* * *

Gemma Farley stared at the eleven year old boy who was frowning as he flipped through another book.

Harry Potter had proven to be quite a surprise. If what her mother had written was correct, he was the first Potter to be sorted into Slytherin.

And given his exciting history, she agreed with her mother that Harry Potter was a boy that she should pay special attention to.

"Where is your best friend?"

Harry looked up. "Best friend?" he echoed.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm talking about Nott."

He shrugged, "he's packing. Like everyone else leaving for the holidays."

"It is very thoughtful of you to stay back to keep me company, Potter. I appreciate it."

He ignored her.

"What are you doing?" she poked him in the ribs.

"Looking for information," he swatted her hand away, his attention going back to the books spread out on the table.

"About what?" she persisted.

He glanced at her, "Voldemort."

* * *

It was with mild admiration that he watched as Farley maintained her perfect composure at his use of the Dark Lords' name.

"What do you know about him?" he questioned.

She was surprisingly quick with her answer. "Not much. He was in Slytherin and a parseltongue. So he is a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin. Most Slytherins believe him to the greatest wizard of this time," she tilted her head sideways, "according to my mother, his followers have said that he is immortal." Farley paused, watching Harry for a reaction. She got none. "And Gryffindors claim that Dumbledore is the only wizard that the Dark Lord is afraid of."

So Dumbledore and Voldemort knew each other. Not surprising. As the leader of the fight against Voldemort and his followers, Dumbledore had probably fought against him numerous times on the battlefield.

"Immortal?" he smiled thinly.

"I have no way of verifying the information," Farley shrugged. "What do you want to know, exactly?"

"Would you like to know what I think?" Harry asked, ignoring her question.

"I think that there was a day in the history of Hogwarts when an eleven year old boy walked in with other students. He put on the same hat that we all did and he was sorted into Slytherin," by now, his voice had dropped into a murmur. "He certainly wouldn't have been known as Lord Voldemort back then. I'm guessing that he was a brilliant student. To become the wizard that he was, he obviously had outstanding talent."

"I have never read or heard about anything regarding the Dark Lord before he became the Dark Lord," she said thoughtfully.

They lapsed into silence again as Harry went back to frowning and jotting down notes.

_"There you are," _a voice hissed.

Harry almost knocked over the ink bottle as Farley quickly drew her wand, both of them staring at the small snake slithering forward, looking at him expectantly while ignoring her.

"He's harmless." Harry assured her. Farley hesitated before withdrawing her wand, though she still held it firmly and pointed to the floor while she appraised the snake.

_"Took you long enough to find me,"_ Harry hissed.

_"Difficult with so many humans,"_ the snake replied defensively.

Colour drained from her face as realization sank in.

"You're a parseltongue," Farley stated, her eyes betraying the calm she was trying to extrude.

"Hmmm", Harry bent forward as the snake slithered forward, letting Harry scoop him up.

She fell silent, her eyes following as he stroked the snake who was coiling around his arms comfortably.

"Anyway," Harry picked up a piece of parchment that had neatly written notes filling more than half of it, "what I really want to know, is who Voldemort was when he was here, when he was an ordinary student like you or me."

Farley was still standing, fear and trepidation swirling in her brown eyes.

"But you're not ordinary, are you?" she whispered.

He smiled.

* * *

**AN:** _Review? Please? Pretty please?_


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:**_ This is a much shorter chapter than I intended but I'm posting it anyway because I don't want you to think that I abandoned the story. Enjoy and always, please review. It makes my day :)_

* * *

**A Road Paved With Ambition**

**Chapter Three**

* * *

_"_Ready?" She asked.

Harry nodded, taking another two steps back to increase the distance between him and the book that Farley was about to throw at him.

She hurled the book and he instantly jumped into action. "Prote-"

"Merlin, no," she interrupted. "You're doing it wrong."

He glared at her as the book fell at his feet with a dull thud. "You didn't even let me cast the spell."

"I didn't have to," she huffed. "You were staring at your wand, waiting for the shield appear."

"So?"

Farley sighed. "When you write, so you look at the quill or the letters?"

He could sense where she was going with this. "The letters," he replied.

"Exactly. Your wand doesn't need you to watch it while you cast the spell. The important things are these," she held up a hand.

"One: Instructions. The incantation is important. Your wand needs to know exactly what you want it to do."

"I know that," he said through gritted teeth.

She pretended not to notice.

"Two: Control. While you cast the spell, you should be in maintain complete control over the strength."

He folded his arms, waiting for her to continue.

"When you're in a situation where you need to defend or attack, think of your wand as a Ravenclaw."

"A Ravenclaw?" he echoed.

"It's like assigning homework to a Ravenclaw. Clear instructions give perfect results. All your wand needs is clear instructions to get something done. If the instructions were something that it had received before, as in if you have practised the spell before, it would have no difficulty in carrying out the instructions as you want. Meanwhile, you should be in control."

"I see," Harry was now getting bored.

"Now the place where you're fighting in, well, that's like a Hufflepuff. If you know how to do it right, you can use it to your advantage. You just have to do it better and faster than your opponent."

"That's just common sense." Harry frowned.

Now she was the one doing the glaring.

* * *

He walked lightly out of habit rather than caution, muffling a yawn as he lightly grazed his fingers against the wall.

_"Dumbledore...after all...a Potter in Slytherin..."_

He froze as he realized that the voice was floating from behind the closed door of his Fathers' study.

Backing against wall, he bent ever so slightly, nudging closer to the wall and taking several measured steps. He wiped his hands that were rapidly damping against the thick robe, a thin film of sweat breaking out on his face as the sensible part of him reminded him that this wasn't something that his Father would approve.

He strained his ears, trying to catch more from the conversation that was taking place behind the large oak door.

_"...too soon to tell."_

He instantly recognized his father's deep voice.

_"All the same, we should keep an eye on him."_

That was the first voice again. He racked his brains, trying to match the voice. He had heard it before, he was sure of it.

He noticed the deal silence, his breaths quickly becoming shorter as he panicked inside. Did they know that he was listening? His Father would be furious and he did not want that.

He sagged with relief as the first man started to speak again.

_"If the Dark Lord returns, we will have to hand him over."_

_"If? You seem doubtful of his return._

A slight pause_._

_"Honestly, I don't see you looking for him either."_

His heart skipped a beat as he finally placed the voice.

Lucius Malfoy.

* * *

Harry paused at the door, unsure if this would go well. As much as he wanted make the acquaintance of Professor Snape, he had to admit that this was not how he had planned to make it happen.

The worst he can do, he told himself, is to refuse to help you.

Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand, knuckles softly rapping against the closed door.

He could almost picture the Potions Master walking to the door, his robes bellowing behind him.

The door opened faster than he had expected and he was now staring at the only teacher in Hogwarts whom he was genuinely uncertain of.

"Professor," he smiled. His voice was not quivering. It was_ not_. "I was wondering if I could talk to you." Because _help_ seemed like such a weak word to say aloud and looking weak right now was very far behind in his ageda.

If he hadn't been paying rapt attention, he was sure that he would have missed the surprise that briefly flickered across the impassive face.

Without a word, the door opened wider and he walked inside.

The entire room was dimly lit, consistent with the theme of the entire Slytherin dungeons and the walls bare of any form of decoration. The large table, where Harry could clearly see that the Professor had been working at, was cluttered with several books and parchments. Two chairs where placed across the table, most likely for students who were unfortunate enough to be summoned here. Opposite the table and stacked at the end of the wall was at entire shelf housing jars with things that Harry was sure were potion ingredients.

Compared to Professor Flitwick's office, this place was darker, gloomier and a lot colder.

He realized Professor Snape was still eyeing him silently.

Harry placed a hand on the back of the nearest chair, more in an effort to steady himself than to look at ease in the depressing room.

"May I sit?"

* * *

Severus watched as the raven haired boy stood up, his face a practised mask of indifference.

His eyes wandered systematically, scanning the room and pausing at the few things that caught his interest, those curious green eyes bright even in the dim light.

"I haven't got all night, Potter," he finally snapped.

The boy seemed to straighten up even more as he looked at the table, the shelf, everywhere except him.

"Can you change my robes, Professor?"

He was simply put, speechless for a moment but did manage to raise an eyebrow that worked perfectly well to send Hufflepuffs running for cover.

"They're pink." The eleven year old gestured to the said robes that did appear to be, well, not black. It was hard to tell the exact colour in the room with so little light.

But he could make out white little rabbits that were flashing faintly on the robes.

"I'm assuming this is the work of the Weasley twins?"

"You assume right," he leaned back in the chair, not appearing to be embarrassed in the slightest. "I think that they were hoping for a brighter shade but it did not work as well as they expected."

Severus knew from experience that it would have worked perfectly as intended if the two idiots had intended to change the colour alone.

"I tried to take it off but that did not work. Can you change it back, Professor?"

"If you were stupid enough to fall for one of their tricks, you might just as well deal with the consequences Potter," he sneered.

For the first time, the boy lifted his head, their eyes meeting for the briefest moment. Potter blinked first, breaking off the contact and looking at him with severe disappointment. "You don't know how to reverse this?"

If he did, he wouldn't have walked around in bloody pink robes for an entire day, would he?

Severus firmly pushed away the stirrings of a rather unpleasant memory that involved him, two Gryffindors, a vivid pink robe, a helpless group of sympathetic but amused teachers and well, the entire Hogwarts. He found himself dearly wishing that he was allowed to dunk students into the Great Lake.

The brat continued to stare at Severus as if he was a hopeless case.

"I was hoping that you would know. Oh well," he shrugged and abruptly changed topics. "I heard Granger and Weasley discussing a three headed dog on the third floor corridor."

If this boy wanted to surprise him, he was going to be sorely disappointed.

"If I find out that you have been anywhere near that place..." he let the threat hang in the air.

"You won't," Potter clearly was annoyed. "I'm not a bloody Gryffindor."

Severus immediately felt better at the thought that James Potter must be rolling in his grave right now.

"Detention for your language, Potter," his evening was progressively getting better. "Three o'clock in my office for the rest of the week."

* * *

Fuming, he shoved back another book on recent history back into the shelf with more force than necessary. The throbbing his temple was now spreading to his entire head that was reeling with the load of useless information.

The war against 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' had been the most expensive war that the Wizarding community in Britain had experienced in its entire history. The Ministry of Magic had employed more Aurors than any other point in time at the height of the resistance against 'You-Know-Who'. The relationship between wizards and goblins had been affected during the war because Gringotts had willingly protected and helped the supporters of 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' in managing their funds for the war. The Ministry had also 'lost count' of the number of people killed by 'You-Know-Who'.

Well, Harry had lost the number of times he had read a name that had a few too many hyphens and he was feeling pissed.

"Ah, Harry, my boy," a voice said brightly.

He turned around to see the Headmaster standing in front of him, his blue eyes twinkling in that annoying manner.

"Headmaster," he acknowledged, the defenses instantly up as he masked all emotions.

Albus Dumbledore had apparently defeated another Dark Lord a few decades ago, some bigot named Grindelwald. Harry assumed that Grindelwald had not been good enough to earn a hyphenated name.

Even still, this man must be quite something if Voldemort was afraid of him.

So when Professor Dumbledore invited him to join him for a walk inside the castle, he accepted, clearly aware that the Headmaster was unlikely to go around seeking out random students in the library and inviting them to join him for a stroll.

* * *

He rubbed his gloved hands that were still blissfully dry, despite the best efforts of Peeves who thought that dumping ice cold water on students was a perfectly acceptable way to greet them in the morning.

Avoiding the trick step on the stairs that led to the second floor, Harry briefly wondered if the second year Hufflepuff who had been the unlucky recipient had stopped crying yet. She _had_ been close to hysterics when he had left her in the corridor.

Not that he cared. After all, he had a lesson to attend. Farley had promised to teach him an exploding hex next.

* * *

He had made no progress on the research on Voldemort. Except for the detentions with Professor Snape which had consisted of slaving away ferrying, cutting and mashing ingredients as He-Who-Knows-Not-To-Reverse-A-Prank-Spell prepared batches of potions for Madam Pomfrey and the lessons with Farley, he had spent every possible moment relentlessly searching for information. He could swear that he had gone through more books than a Ravenclaw did in an entire year, but he had nothing to show for it. Absolutely nothing. The authors had all been fixated on the things that he had done rather than the man himself. A few had been humble enough to admit that 'very little' was known about 'You-Know-Who'.

Why? Why was he so elusive? It was as if the boy who had been in Slytherin, the one who had graduated from Hogwarts had disappeared into thin air and then appeared again as Lord Voldemort.

This brought him back to the matter of Voldemort as a student in Hogwarts. He couldn't find any book in the library on past students and Madam Pince had confirmed that she did not even have a list of the students who had graduated from Hogwarts.

Wizards were obviously worse than muggles when it came to keeping records.

* * *

The two weeks seemed to have flown by without a warning and as much as he was going to miss the peace and bouts of solidarity, he was pleased to know that he would have his housemates back.

Nott was among the first to arrive inside the common room and they fell into an easy conversation, both of them aware that the important information would have to wait.

Farley was present, listening intently as Nott told Harry about a Quidditch match that he had attended in Russia. Draco marched in a few minutes later looking as haughty as ever. He was closely followed by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Malfoy, so good to have you back," Faley greeted warmly. "I'm going to have to borrow that friend of yours."

"What?" he switched from haughty to confused as Farley stood up and gripped Goyle by his collar while some Slytherins present threw inquiring looks in their general direction.

"And you," she turned to Harry. "Let's go."

Harry nodded to Nott who seemed perfectly at ease with what was happening.

The climbed out of the portrait door, jostling against the stream of Slytherins walking back to their common room.

Harry waited until the three of them were a safe distance away. "Where are we going?"

"For an impromptu lesson," Farley informed as she half marched and half dragged the dumbfounded Goyle.

Harry jerked his thumbs towards him. "And he's joining us because?"

Farley smiled. "I'm going to teach you a very useful stunning spell."

"Ah."

* * *

_**AN:** Thank you for reading! Can I please have a review now?_


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